End of the Innocence
by Jada115
Summary: Alan's word salad days come to an end. Based on David E. Kelley's BL characters.


The next day, Miranda was in the research library gathering information for Alan's case for Ms. Reed. She sat at the table, writing. She didn't realize Alan was behind her until he leaned over her, his lips next to her ear, his hands on the table.

"You know, you do not play fair."

She smiled, continued writing. "Yes I do. You said you were seeking a return to innocence. I was trying to keep you honest. If you weren't sincere…"

"I was being not insincere as much as I was being philosophical." He lifted her hair back and placed a kiss on her neck—a move which made her tingle all over. He moved away and took the seat next to her.

"And how was I to know the difference?" She said, glancing up at him then back at her writing.

"I've realized that I cannot truly return to innocence until I can also remove from my mind the thoughts I often entertain of you; thoughts which are," he ran his fingers down her neck onto the shoulder of her shirt, "quite vividly sordid and lascivious in their nature."

She tossed her hair back and looked at him, amused. "You're probably right. I've been having the same problem."

"You have?" He said with a mixture of happiness and surprise. "Do tell."

She nodded. "I mean, last night I was so worked up after you left I had to…work it out on my own."

"Oh dear God." He chuckled. "You should have called. _I _could have helped. I'm all about helping people."

"But you said…" She put her finger on the book page to hold her spot and looked up at him.

"Perhaps we can agree to forget what I said…"

She looked back at her work. She sighed. "Of course, it wasn't enough for me to take care of the more immediate issue last night. Afterward, I proceeded to have a very vivid, naughty dream…Involving us—and it seemed _so real_."

"Ha!" He snorted, laughing. "You're just provoking me." He sat back.

"I am," she said, returning to her book. "But I'm also telling the truth."

She chuckled. "When I woke up, I actually looked around the room, believing I would see you or evidence that you had been there." She sighed again. "But imagine my disappointment when you were nowhere to be found."

"Yes. I think I've grown quite familiar with that feeling."

"It won't always be that way."

"You know, Miranda." He put his hand on hers to stop her writing. "I really think we should reconsider this whole return to innocence. I think you should tell me the contents of that dream. Perhaps I can help your dream come true…sort of like our personal Make a Wish."

She ran her hand from his knee along his thigh. "Perhaps you're right."

He seemed to visibly melt. "You're wicked," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Using my weakness…" Then she lifted her hand to gently stroke his cheek and ran her hand into his hair. "…against me," he said weakly.

She leaned in and gave him a tender, soft kiss.

When she pulled away, he felt lightheaded. "Cinnamon flounder."

"Oh, Alan. I'm sorry. Will this happen every time?"

His face pinched up. "Buttress hunter knob." He got up and walked away.

Alan returned to his office in a state of high agitation, pacing to and fro.

Denny came in. "Hey, Alan."

Alan paused to acknowledge Denny and continued pacing.

"What's wrong?" Denny asked.

"She has got me so…" he clinched his fists in front of his stomach.

"Knotted up?" Denny said.

Alan nodded.

"There's only one cure for this…sex. You're going to have to sleep with her."

Alan was exasperated. "I know, Denny, but I can't _make_ her and ever since I told her that…"

"Oh, yea. You're screwed…and not in the way you need to be."

"Denny, that's inappropriate. It's not exactly about that."

"Sure it is."

"No, it's not!"

"Hey don't snap at me."

"I'm sorry, Denny, but I…"

"That hurt my feelings."

"I'm sorry."

"You're grumpy when you're horny."

"Denny, it's not just about that."

"Then what?"

"She drives me wild—everything about her," he said animatedly, his hands and arms punctuating his words. "Her scent, her laugh, the eyes, the neck, the way she thinks, the way she moves, the things she says, the way she says it…just…HER!"

"She makes the word salad come back, too."

"There's that." Alan rubbed his temples.

"You okay?"

"I think I'm getting a headache."

Miranda knocked on the door and entered the room. Alan struggled to maintain composure.

"Hello, Denny," Miranda said. "Would you mind if I spoke to Alan alone?"

"Anything you have to say to Alan you can say in front of me. We're flamingos. I won't remember anything anyway." He pointed to his head, and whispered, "Mad cow."

"Denny, please," Alan said.

"Oh alright then." As he exited the room, he took Miranda's hand. "You never called. I'm upset, but I forgive you. You still have my number?"

Miranda looked at Alan.

"Denny…" Alan said with warning.

"Call me," Denny mouthed before planting a kiss on her hand. He backed out of the office with, making the phone call sign and mouthing "call me." Miranda shut the door.

"Alan," she said, sitting on his couch. She patted the seat next to her, "Please."

He sat next to her, tensely, shifted a little to gain composure before he felt he could safely look her in the eye. That Mona Lisa smile greeted him.

"You're uneasy," she said, touching his knee. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he chuckled anxiously.

"Alan…" she said, unbelieving. "Why do I make you revert into this word salad—and all of a sudden; it wasn't like this when we first met. Do I annoy you?"

He laughed nervously. "Oh God, no! You don't...in any way…_annoy_ me—agitate, maybe…"

"You say this happens when you get anxious. So why do I suddenly make you anxious? Is there something in particular I'm doing that I should stop doing?"

He didn't want to tell her that he was so crazy about her that she made him fall to pieces—especially when she touched him. The thought of exposing himself in such a ridiculous way made his stomach turn.

He tried to make up something that sounded feasible. "I explained this at dinner last night. It's a combination of things."

"Is work part of the issue?"

"Yes."

"You just don't look well right now. You really need to relax. Come here," she said, patting her lap. "Lay your head right here."

He shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Alan. Do it."

He lay on his side, putting his head in her lap. She ran her fingers and nails in little circles through his hair, humming "Someone to Watch over Me."

"That feels…"

"I know," she said. "Just be quiet."

He soon became drowsy.

"Alan?"

"Hm?"

"Look at me."

He rolled over in her lap to look up at her.

"You feel better?"

"I do."

She smoothed her hands over his face. "Good. Now, whatever is bothering you, we'll talk about it tonight at dinner, okay?"

"Okay."

She ran her nails over his chest in circles under his suit jacket. "Until then just try to hold on to this feeling you have right now."

He nodded.

"Because you've got a long day ahead of you and lots of people who need your help and depend on you to be in control. Okay?"

"Yes."

She leaned over his face and he reached up and touched a strand of her hair and kissed it. Then he slipped his hand into her hair to pull her face toward him as he moved forward to taste her lips. They kissed tenderly. As they continued to kiss, his passion mounted and he rose up on his arm, strengthening the force of his kiss, gently pulling her hair back to expose her neck to kiss it then her lips again.

"Alan," she said through his kiss. "Alan, honey. I really hate to stop this skin-tingling make out session, but we both have got to get back to work."

He relaxed, still lying across her lap. "You're right," he said, placing his hand on her belly. "But before you go. Tell me about the dream."

She smiled. "But if I do that it will undo all the work I just put into relaxing you."

He pulled her shirt up and kissed her belly as he slid off the couch and pressed himself between her legs.

"You're not just wicked…" He ran his nose up the front of her shirt, taking in her scent. "You're evil."

She laughed.

He stopped to kiss bare portion of her chest, up her neck.

"Now who's wicked?" she said.

"Quid pro quo. Tell me the dream—just a little." He nibbled her ear, sending chills all over her.

"Given the circumstances, that just isn't a good idea. You'll be talking gibberish for the rest of the day."

Carl entered, much to Alan's irritation.

"Alan I wanted to see if…" Carl stopped and took in the scene of Alan caught between the legs of his assistant. "So sorry to interrupt." He said flatly.

Alan said, "We were just working on a dictation."

Carl nodded slowly. "And that's certainly what it looks like from this angle. However, I've always seen dictation done differently, but I like this better. I think my assistant and I have been doing it wrong for years now."

Alan moved away from Miranda and stood while Miranda sat up and straightened her clothes. He said, "Well, that doesn't surprise me Carl." He straightened his tie and jacket. "You strike me as a by-the-book sort of fella. I'd be happy to give you some pointers on more…innovative techniques."

"Yes, well, perhaps you can send Ms. Houston by with the notes."

Alan stiffened. "Wrong choice of words, Carl."

"You're right. I apologize, Ms. Houston. May I speak with Alan alone?"

Miranda exited, winking at Alan on the way out.  
Alan watched her leave, a smirk on his face.

He didn't bother to look at Carl. "Why are you here Carl?" he said, turning to pour himself a drink. He offered a drink to Carl. He turned it down.

Carl pulled up a chair. "There is a case that requires a certain flair and I thought you would be the best one for it."

Alan sat in a nearby chair and sipped his scotch, irritated.

Alan left work early that night with a brisk, "Goodbye." Miranda felt a little disappointed because she thought they were supposed to have dinner together. She was certain he must have still been upset and anxious. She caught a cab and had a gloomy ride home.

She got to the hotel and peeked into the lounge. No Alan.

She shrugged. Oh well. She knew the moment she got involved with him that he was a little odd, that he danced to his own drummer. She had to remind herself that's what she liked about him most. She couldn't hold it against him if he behaved unpredictably. She caught the elevator to her floor. She opened the door to find several candles lit in the bedroom and soft jazz playing.

She looked in the bathroom. Alan was in the Jacuzzi tub, covered with bubbles, a glass of champagne in one hand and a cigar in the other. He wore a cowboy hat that lit up around the rim.

"Good evening. There's strawberries in the bedroom. I thought I would wait to order dinner—until we…worked up an appetite."

She leaned against the doorway. "You never give up do you?"

"If I gave every time I met a challenge, I would be anywhere close to the success I am now."

"How did you get in? Seduce the front desk personnel?"

"Mmm. Wish I'd have thought of that. It certainly would have been more interesting. Actually, it turns out that the big bad wolf still had the spare key to this room."

She smiled. "I thought you were upset with me." She approached him and sat on the edge of the tub, slipping off her heels. She poured herself a glass of champagne.

"Why?"

"Because I've been teasing you, rather relentlessly, I might add."

"It's been fun."

"Really?" she said. "Even with the whole word salad thing?"

"Granted that was a little embarrassing…"

She spun around and dipped her feet into the tub. She removed his cowboy hat and put it on.

"Looks much better on you. Maybe you can wear it tonight when we play rodeo."

She laughed. "You are just….rotten."

She ran her foot along his leg, up his belly and chest. "You know, Alan, I've been thinking."

He sat his cigar on the side of the tub and took her foot in his hands, massaging it. She melted. "That feels amazing. Your hands are so…"

He smirked, fairly certain of his victory tonight.

She sat her champagne glass on the sink and slid into the tub with him, fully clothed, and sat opposite him, placing her legs against his sides. "Can innocence ever be regained once it's lost?" she said. "And is it something so important for people like us?"

"Like us?"

"You know, a couple of old souls, been knocked around a little. I honestly can't remember a time of innocence myself. There've been days when I would swear I've lived at least a hundred lifetimes. Do you ever feel that way?"

He studied her. "Every day," he said somberly.

She sat up and ran her hands up his thighs. "How about we make this the official end of our return to innocence? We don't have any use for it anyway." She sat up and slid her hands up his thighs. "Oh!" She said, "Seems like we have at least one 'yes' vote."

"I think that's the only vote that counts."

He sat up and took her face in his hands and kissed her passionately.

After making love, dinner, and making love again, Miranda fell asleep and Alan lay in bed watching the late night news. He checked to be certain she was in fact asleep. He pulled the sheet up over her shoulder and brushed her hair out of her face. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and took a picture of himself and Miranda and added a text that said: "I'll help you with the makeup in the morning" and promptly sent it to Brad's phone. He then slid under the sheets to ensure that both he and Miranda would indeed have sweet dreams.


End file.
